Vegas: Interludes
by XWaltzforVenusX
Summary: Oneshots that take place in the Vegas-verse, but don't actually fit into any of the timelines. RT


_Ok, where do I start?_

_I know I put up a poll awhile back that said I'd have more time during winter break and it just hasn't happened. I'm still freakishly busy and I've been completely uninspired to write. That being said, I know that those of you who voted actually chose Chinoverse, but… yeah, that didn't happen, either. So I suppose I'll stop with all the false promises and give you guys this:_

_I don't know when I'm going to write; I don't know when I'm going to update; and I don't know what it's going to be._

_Alright, onto what the hell this is. This idea actually came to me back when I was still writing Vegas II, and I'm pretty sure I wrote most of this back then as well. I would reference things in the Vegases and decide I wanted to write it. So this is going to be a place that I'll put any oneshot that takes place in the Vegas-verse, but doesn't fit into any of the stories. If that makes any sense. Timeline-wise, this particular chapter takes place right after college and before all the Vegases and unlike the rest, it's all from Ryan's POV._

_And also, this posting in no way means my hiatus is off. This is for Azrael's birthday only._

_So happy birthday, I hope it's better than you've been expecting._

* * *

I zip up the last duffel bag and look around the room. It's strange, actually. I've lived here for two years, on the campus for a total of four, and I kind of can't believe it's over. Truthfully, I can't believe _college_ is over.

And it's weird to actually think that, because I never thought I'd actually _get_ to college in the first place, and now I can't believe its over? Jesus. It's like I'm a completely different person. I don't cringe every time someone raises their voice. I don't punch someone every time they get on my nerves. I have a family – a _real_ family. I have a fucking college diploma.

And I'm actually proud of myself.

I don't think I've ever been proud of myself.

I mean, not really. Everything that I've done has been shaded by guilt or anger. And even high school graduation hadn't made me feel like this. Not because I didn't deserve the whole cap and gown thing, but I feel like I only made it through because of the Cohens, Seth, Summer, and Marissa. But college? I did this on my own.

Yes, the Cohens are only twenty minutes away, and Seth calls me every freaking day, but still. I did this on my own, _living_ on my own. And ok, Sandy and Kirsten were paying for this place – because my part-time job doesn't pay near enough – but I made it four years without them looking over my shoulder constantly. It feels good.

My cell phone goes off, and I reach into my pocket to get it. Seth.

"Hey," I answer, trapping the thing between my ear and shoulder as I pick up my bags and leave the room.

"Hey, man, you home yet?" he sounds hassled. I think he's still packing his shit up, too.

"Nah, just leaving my place now. Or… my old place."

"Yeah, that sucks you can't keep it. Stupid on-campus housing." I laugh at how annoyed he sounds – I know he wants a place to live when he gets to Berkeley. See, unlike him, I have no problem living with the Cohens until I get on my own two feet.

"You get in on Thursday, right?" I change the subject. It's gonna be nice living with him again after all this time, cause I've actually missed the bastard. Of course, it won't be _exactly_ the same, what with it being a new house and all. We won't be meeting up in the kitchen and discussing our problems over coffee. Not because there won't be a kitchen or coffee or problems, but because now we have Summer there too. And Sophie.

Good Lord the house is gonna be full.

"Yeah," he sighs dramatically, and I hear Summer's voice in the background. "Gotta go," he rushes, not bothering to wait for my reply before hanging up. By that time I'm outside, and I throw the last bag into the Jeep.

Time to go home.

* * *

"_Dude_," Seth elongates with a grin, and I can't help but grin back. He drops his bags unceremoniously in the hall – much to Kirsten's dismay – and grabs me up in a hug. I ignore the fact that there's four people watching and hug him back. We break finally, covering our embarrassment with loud, manly coughing.

Summer rolls her eyes.

"Cohen," she raises her eyebrows and looks pointedly at his bags. He completely ignores her and heads into the kitchen.

"Hey man," he calls back to me. "Could you grab my bags? I'm _starving_."

* * *

"Glad to have me back, Atwood?" she mocks, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of _course_ I am. I was actually surprised how much I missed her when we all went to college. I guess I never realized how big a part of my life Summer Roberts actually was.

"Well, you keep Seth in line, so I guess its good you're here," I shoot back, not taking my eyes off my sandwich.

I just got in from my job. It was a slow night at the bar, so I'm home earlier than usual – about two-thirty in the morning. For some reason, Summer's still up – something about Seth snoring, although you'd think she'd be used to it by now. So that's why we're here, in near complete darkness.

"Ha ha," she rolls her eyes, but smiles, and sits down next to me at the kitchen table. "Although we should probably be quiet so he doesn't wake up."

"If he does, it's your turn to put him back to sleep," I sigh.

"Me? I _always_ have to. I think it's only fair that you do some of the work."

"Look, Summer," I argue, turning to face her, "I just worked an eight hour shift. I'm really tired, and _you've_ done nothing all day."

"I knew you'd throw that back in my face," she huffs, folding her arms across her chest.

"You know," I muse, leaning back in my chair, "if you and Seth ever procreate, you'll have to take care of an actual _baby_ Seth." Not that there's much of a difference, sometimes, but…

"Oh God," she folds her arms on the table and drops her head on them. I laugh.

It's nice having her back.

* * *

The giant bunny bites my arm and I try to pull it back.

The bunny lets go and looks at me sternly.

"What the hell, man?" the bunny asks as I rub my stinging arm.

"All I said was that carrots were too orange to eat," I tell him.

"What? What the hell are you talking about?" The bunny steps forward. "Wake up, man." Then the bunny bites me again, the pain sharp and stinging on my arm. I shut my eyes tightly and yank my arm away.

When I open my eyes, the bunny's gone and I'm in my bed, the harsh morning light making my eyes water. Seth's standing above me, looking half confused, half pissed off. He pinches my arm, making it sting.

"What?" I croak out, looking at the clock on the bedside table. "It's fucking seven in the morning," I groan, trying to drag the covers up over my head. I just got to sleep three hours ago. I'm _tired_.

"Ok, one, what the hell was that about carrots? And two, why is Summer telling me she's never having sex with me again?" He pulls the covers off me and I give him my best glare.

And I ignore the carrot comment.

"Maybe she just realized you're a horrible human being that wakes people up too damn early," I grumble, turning onto my stomach to bury my face in the pillow. The sun is too goddamn _bright_. It doesn't seem to deter him, though, because he starts poking me insistently in the back. And not just _anywhere_. No, he seems to somehow have found just the right spot between the muscles of my shoulder, and it fucking _hurts_.

"She said something about procreating," I can hear the tone in his voice that lets me know he's scrunching up his face. Oh.

"Yeah," the pillow muffles my speech, but he stops poking me, so I guess he can hear me alright. "Summer doesn't want to have to take care of a mini version of you. I never told her to stop screwing you." Ok, to quote Summer – _ew_. Cause now that vision is burned into my head. Stupid tired, overworked brain. I was doing better in the bunny kingdom, even if they weren't too happy with me.

"Ok, well now you have to convince her to boink me again," he rants, panicked. "I don't know how long I can go without, man. I'm a very sexual being…"

"You've gone longer without," I mutter. "Summer told me about that one time she cut you off for three months after you kissed that drunk girl at a frat party."

"_She_ kissed _me_," he protests before stalking angrily out of the room. Well, that's one way of getting rid of him, I think as I pull the covers up and fall back asleep.

* * *

"It's been a week," I mumble through my food.

"I know, but I feel like a loser," Seth whines, which makes Summer and me roll our eyes.

Although, to be fair, we _are_ twenty three, living in our parent's house, jobless, playing video games at two in the afternoon, and eating Cheetos like it's an actual food group. On the rankings of non-loserness, we're pretty low.

But it's weird. I always assumed that once you graduated from college, things just fell into place. Um… not so much. So far Summer's the only one with a real job prospect - G.E.O.R.G.E. wants to hire her full time in their San Francisco branch, but she's waiting them out until they offer more money. Seth's been sending out copies of _Atomic County_ since before he graduated, and I interned at Branson, Anderson & West last summer, and they seemed impressed with me.

Still, until I actually get a job, I feel like I'm stuck in limbo.

* * *

"I think Summer's gonna break up with me."

I sigh and pause the game. "What?"

"She's been acting kinda weird. This past week?"

"She's not gonna break up with you," I tell him, unpausing the game to let him continue to beat the shit out of me. Eight years and I still can't win as much as I'd like. Seth grumbles something, but I ignore it.

Summer _has_ been acting a little weird lately, but I'm chalking it up to her new job. She got G.E.O.R.G.E. to offer her a shitload more than they did at first. I really shouldn't keep being surprised that she somehow does better than Seth when it comes to this stuff. She got into Brown, she got a job first. She's quite the woman.

And knowing that, I shouldn't feel as awful as I do, but I can't help it. I mean, it's been three weeks since graduation, and I'm still working as a bartender at the local bar. But at least I'm doing _something_. Seth doesn't even have a crappy job. I think he's ignoring the fact that if his unemployment keeps up any longer, he'll have to get one.

"She keeps getting phone calls."

I sigh and pause the game again. "It's probably from work."

"At two in the morning?" Now he really has my attention. Two in the morning? "And she always sneaks out of the room to talk. I think she's cheating on me."

"She's not cheating on you," I tell him, unpausing the game to shift his attention.

* * *

The house is quiet, which is weird. I haven't heard silence in this house for three and a half weeks.

Kirsten took Sophie to a birthday party for one of the kids in her preschool, and Sandy has classes all day. Summer's at work and Seth's – _finally_ – at an interview. Some comic book company, I can't remember the name. Something about a horse?

Anyway, its noon, and I just woke up, because I didn't get in till about three-thirty this morning. I really, _really_, need a job. I hate working nights. Not only is my sleep schedule thrown completely off, but… I don't know, something feels like its missing.

I get to the kitchen and start making coffee – instant, because I need a jolt _now_, and I'm willing to ignore the fact that instant sucks. So I put the mug in the microwave and start a pot as well, because I know I'll want more later. When my coffee's done, I take it out to the porch and dig into the pockets of my sweats for the little box that I've had to hide for almost a month now.

Cigarettes.

I light one up and take a deep drag.

_Fan-fucking-tastic._

I've had to hide this, because the Cohens and Summer don't exactly approve. I think Seth suspects, but he doesn't say anything, because he's incredibly loyal. But he does give me these looks sometimes, disapproving. Which bugs me more than it should, because I'd like to think that his opinion doesn't matter as much as it does.

But he doesn't get it. I _need_ to smoke. I started up again – after five long years – in my sophomore year of college. My second roommate had been a smoker, and, well, it just happened. Really, I'm surprised the Cohens never noticed, but I'm guessing it's because they've been so hassled lately – what with Kirsten handling Sophie and NewMatch, and Sandy having a freakish amount of classes to teach. He's actually really popular; he's got a reputation for being tough, but fair. And entertaining, but that goes without saying.

I hope the neighbors don't rat me out, though. Maybe I should smoke in the backyard? But the porch has become the new kitchen. It's where everyone congregates. It's where Seth/Ryan time happens. I _like_ the porch. So I'll take the risk. I take another drag as a bright yellow cab pulls up across the street. New neighbors?

Both doors on the other side open – driver and back seat – so I can't really see who gets out, but it looks like only one person. Besides the driver, that is. Anyway, the cabbie – some fat Italian guy – goes to the trunk and starts unloading luggage, while the passenger pulls some bags from the back seat.

Huh.

That luggage looks kinda familiar.

The driver gets back in the car and pulls away and I blink slowly, because… what?

She turns to me and smiles.

What the fuck?

She slings her purse over her shoulder and – somehow – picks up all her luggage before making her way over here with those precise steps of hers, heels clicking determinedly on the pavement. I must look like an idiot, I think – somewhat inanely – with my mouth hanging open and a cup of coffee in one hand, half-smoked cigarette in the other. But I'm pretty sure it's the mouth part that makes me look like an idiot.

"Ryan!" she smiles brightly at me, seemingly unaware of said _mouth hanging open like an idiot_ thing.

"Taylor," I manage finally, setting my coffee down and hurriedly throwing my cigarette in the cup so she won't see it.

Then I stand up and wipe my suddenly sweaty hands on my sweatpants – is that why they call them that? – and I'm very aware that she looks incredible – white and black lacy top, dark jeans that cling to her fantastic legs, black heeled boots, hair up in some perfectly arranged style. She looks incredible and I look… well, I look like I worked an nine hour bartending shift, got in at three-thirty in the morning, slept until noon, then got up, had a cup of bad instant coffee and smoked half a cigarette. And haven't changed out of my wife beater and sweatpants. I haven't even taken a shower yet. I haven't brushed my hair.

"I know," she tilts her head, still smiling, "what am I doing here?" I can only seem to nod my head, which makes her smile get wider. "I got a job in San Francisco!"

"That's… great?" What the hell? I'm not sure what's going on with me, but I think it's mostly nervous energy that's making me all twitchy. And now that I think about it, I'm incredibly nervous.

Oh God, I'm so nervous.

"Isn't it?" she sets her luggage down on the sidewalk and steps toward me. "And while I get situated, Summer said I could stay here."

"Summer?" I repeat idiotically.

Well, now I know who she's been talking to at two in the morning.

"Yeah. She said the Cohens are ok with it."

"The Cohens?"

Stop repeating everything she says, damnit. At least _try_ to sound like a college graduate.

"And I take it they didn't tell you," she rolls her eyes. "Summer kept saying something about a big surprise, but I thought she meant a party, not that she didn't tell you."

"Um."

Wow, great response, college graduate.

"Oh well," she sighs brightly, waving her hands to signal it doesn't matter. "Can you help me with my bags?" I swallow compulsively even though my mouth's dry, and move toward her stuff. "Oh!" I stop halfway; I forgot how high her voice can get when she's excited. "I have a question."

"Yeah?"

"Are you seeing anyone?"

What?

"What?"

Ok, seriously. _College fucking graduate_ here.

"Seeing anyone," she repeats, looking at me strangely. "You know, going out with, dating, involved with, screwing-"

"Taylor." She looks up at me, breaking off her ramble and waiting for me to answer. "No."

She nods like she expected the answer, then picks up a bag before moving past me. "Good," she says over her shoulder, "because we're getting back together." She continues up the porch steps without another look back. "Oh, don't forget my bags!"

What just happened?

* * *

"Taylor," I find her in the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She turns to me and smiles, and really, I'm trying to be righteously angry here. I mean, she just shows up and _tells_ me we're getting back together? I ignore the fact that I brought her bags in, just like she told me to. "What the hell?"

She frowns slightly, then blows her bangs out of her face. "I should've known you'd be stubborn about this."

Stubborn? I'm being _stubborn?_

"I'm not being stubborn," I protest, cringing a little at how childish I sound.

"Fine," she takes a sip of coffee and quirks an eyebrow, "then, please, tell me why you don't want to get back together." She waits while I try to think up ideas.

Ok, think of why we broke up in the first place. She was in Paris and I was in Berkeley. Well, that doesn't exactly fly, because now she'll be here. Um… there's the whole thing where she's insane. Except it doesn't really bother me. Her quirkiness is actually kinda cute. And I can't complain about the sex. She's good at sex.

Fuck, I haven't been laid in three months.

"See?" she cuts into my thoughts and I wish she weren't so damn smug. I wish she didn't know me so well. You'd think after four years apart she wouldn't be able to predict what I'll do, but she can. Maybe it's because it hasn't been four years since I last saw her. She keeps showing up once every four months or so, looking for 'one last time' sex.

"Look, Taylor," I run my hands over my face in frustration, "don't you think this is a little fast?"

"How is this fast?" She sets her mug down and steps towards me. "We've already dated, and the only reason we're not dating right now is because we were on different continents. Which, if you haven't noticed, we're not now." She puts her hands on my chest and tilts her head at me. "Now, will you stop brooding and kiss me?"

I make some annoyed noise – a grunt, most likely – before rolling my eyes and leaning down to kiss her. She smiles against my lips – goddamnit, she's so fucking smug – but somehow it doesn't bother me as much as it should. But that's probably because her lips are soft under mine, her tongue hot and wet and pushing itself into my mouth, and she tastes vaguely like coffee. She gives a happy little sigh and wraps her arms around my neck, pressing herself into me, and why was this a bad idea?

"Whoa." She breaks off and I huff in annoyance, because God seems to hate me. "Ryan, who's the… _Taylor_?"

"Hi, Seth," she greets, looking past me and wiping at her lips absently before smoothing down her shirt. "How was your interview?"

"Um…" he squints his eyes at us, because I'm sure he's just as confused as I was… _am_. "What are you doing here?"

"I got a job," she smiles, "and I took it because everyone I like is here, and there's only so much French romanticism one can take without going crazy."

_Crazier_, my mind shoots back, but I manage to stop the actual words.

"Crazier," Seth mutters, and I resist the urge to either grin or hit him.

He needs to get out of my head.

"Yes well, Summer said I could stay here…"

"Summer knew?" he scrunches up his face.

"And Sandy and Kirsten," I add, moving over to the pot of coffee. I pour two cups and hand one over to Seth. He looks like he needs the caffeine as much as I do.

"And you're… staying here," he says slowly, like he's making sure he heard her right. And I'd be annoyed at having to hear the story repeated, but I was just as dense when she showed up.

"Mhmm," she hums with a smile. "And Ryan and I are back together."

He looks at me, eyes wide, and I shrug.

"I'm gonna go unpack!" she exclaims happily, clapping her hands and skipping to where I dropped her bags. "Oh!" She pauses at the opening to the hall, turning back to look at me reproachfully, "by the way, you're not smoking anymore. You taste like an ashtray." Then she continues on, picking up her bags and I hear her start humming as she heads upstairs. Then there's silence again, and Seth shakes his head slowly, mouth open.

"You're back together?"

"Apparently."

* * *

"Sorry," Sandy grins and laughs, and he's not sorry at all. Neither is Kirsten, from the way she's smiling into her coffee mug. I give them my best glare – the nicotine withdrawal helps. "Summer told us it was a surprise."

"Well, I'm surprised," I mutter, stalking over to the refrigerator and yanking it open. It's not that I'm upset that Taylor's here. In fact, I'm quite looking forward to getting her alone and getting her naked, but I really hate surprises. They should know this by now. I _hate_ surprises.

"Ryan," I turn to look at Kirsten, who suddenly looks worried. "Are you ok?" She must think I don't want Taylor here; that she brings up too many painful memories. Which is bullshit, cause Taylor's actually never given me any reason to _have_ painful memories. We broke up on good terms, and I'd loved her. She saved me, I saved her, we had fun. Pretty much the healthiest relationship I've ever been in.

"Yeah," I try to reassure her. "I just don't like surprises is all." She nods, looking smug again. She knows me too well.

"Well," Sandy cuts in enthusiastically, "you might wanna start liking them, cause something tells me Taylor's full of surprises."

Dear God, he's right.

* * *

She giggles against my lips, "he said I was what?"

"Full of surprises," I murmur, leaning up on my elbows to capture her mouth more effectively. She giggles again, hand snaking into my pants and I let out a low grunt.

"Am I?" she breathes, pulling back slightly to look at me.

"What?" I know I _should_ know what she's talking about, but her hand wrapped around my dick is short-circuiting my brain. She giggles again, wrinkling her nose.

"Am I full of surprises?" she lowers her voice until it's a silky whisper, tightening her hand, which makes me drop back against the pillows.

"If I say yes, will you fuck me?"

"I'd fuck you either way," she kisses me hard, rubbing her thumb over the head of my cock, and my hips arch off the bed.

"Jesus," I hiss. I want to tell her she _is_ full of surprises, cause that wasn't the answer I was expecting. I'd forgotten how she doesn't play games when it comes to sex. And how much she loves fucking me. She's the only girl I've ever dated – fucked, whatever – that loves it as much as she does; that throws herself full force into it.

"Do you need to get that?"

What?

"What?"

"The phone," she stills her hand, and now I hear the distant ringing of the phone. Except it's not exactly _distant_, because there's a line in my room, so it's actually right on the bedside table, but it _sounds_ distant because Taylor's hand is fucking _magic_.

"No," I shake my head, gripping her wrist when she tries to pull away. She smiles at me, squeezing me hard and making me gasp. The ringing stops. Thank God, it was kinda distracting.

"Take your pants off, Ryan," she whispers, and I let go of her wrist to fumble with my belt.

"Ryan, honey?" Kirsten calls through the door. "Phone!"

"Ok!" I choke out, and Taylor takes her hand away. God damn it. Taylor sighs and sits upright, and I try to do the same – ignoring the fact that I have a raging hard on and the girl who did it to me is still on my bed. I take a deep breath and grab the phone. "Hello?"

"Ryan Atwood?" a cheerful voice questions, and it sounds vaguely familiar.

"Yes?"

"Charles Branson," he introduces himself.

Oh shit.

"Mr. Branson," I repeat, sitting up fully. Taylor looks at me curiously.

"Ryan, it's good to talk to you again," he continues on like he doesn't notice my nervousness. "I just got your resume."

* * *

"You look so good!" I can't help but grin as she smoothes down my suit jacket for the hundredth time. "I know you're gonna get hired," she continues on and she's making me dizzy with her relentless enthusiasm.

"Taylor, I have to go now," I take both her wrists and pull them away from me. She stops, biting her bottom lip and nodding.

"Good luck," she whispers, looking uncharacteristically nervous. She leans up and kisses me lightly, standing aside to let me go.

I head downstairs, pausing at the bottom because Kirsten's standing next to the door.

With tears in her eyes.

Shit.

Yeah, worst fears? Confirmed.

She steps towards me and throws her arms around me, sniffling. "I'm so proud of you!"

"I didn't get the job yet," I protest, feeling the blood rush to my face. She seems to notice my embarrassment, because she backs away with an indulgent smile.

"But I know you will."

I'm not sure where this faith comes from. What did I do to earn it?

* * *

"Well?"

Seth's the first one to talk. They're all gathered on the porch when I get back, and way to be real subtle, everyone. Like I don't know they're waiting for me. I sigh, pulling at my tie before shrugging the suit coat off.

"_Well_?" Seth asks again, a little more insistent.

"Well what?"

"Ryan Atwood," Kirsten says in her Newport voice.

"I think it went well," I suppress a smile and walk past them, up the stairs.

"You _think_ it went well?" Seth follows me, and I can hear the rest of them behind him. I grab a water bottle out of the fridge, ignoring the annoyed huffs of the entire freaking family. One long drink later, and they're on the edge of their seats. Well, they would be if they were sitting, but it's an expression, so whatever. I look at them, their eyes wide, hanging on my every movement.

"Oh, I totally got the job."

There's a squeal, and I feel something hit my chest, and it's only when I've stumbled back three feet that I realize its Taylor.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!" she chants excitedly, squeezing me around the ribs almost painfully, because she's actually really strong. I know she doesn't look it from her size, but I think she may be able to give... well, not me, but definitely Seth a run for his money. On second thought, that's not such a hard feat, because Seth's really weak. Maybe she could give Summer a run for her money.

I look up from the top of her head at the rest of the family. Sandy's grinning proudly, Kirsten's wiping tears from her eyes, and Seth's trying to give me the 'rock n roll' sign, scrunching up his nose and sticking out his tongue. Summer hits him and he stops.

Holy shit.

I have a job.

And a girlfriend.

And a college diploma.

When did I become an adult?

_

* * *

_

Review?


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